


Deference for Darkness

by OneEightSix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEightSix/pseuds/OneEightSix
Summary: The night has a thousand eyes, and the day only one.Can you redeem a crime against blood?





	1. Changes

During childhood, Genji was never one to stick his nose in a book too long that didn’t have a super hero, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of child to complete homework on time. Genji Shimada was a very regular child and teen, growing to make mistakes, intentionally emotionally hurt people and regret his actions afterwards. He was a child learning to walk and become the person who he was supposed to be for the rest of his life.

This became apparent when he hit 18. Genji held a kind heart forged from his guilt and regret as a child, holding a soft smile and a laidback nature, where any mistake was no big deal and could be remedied.

 

Hanzo, on the other hand brought up with a stern hand, but by himself and not his father. Hanzo took the stories of his duty and rise to Scion to heart; he studied furiously, mastering English long before his brother could even master the basics, he excelled in his sword play and archery and often had little room for mistakes. Hanzo saw what difficult decisions he made were for the greater good and not for the feelings of others. If Hanzo hurt someone making the ‘right’ decision, so be it.

The two brothers were similar in many ways, but also worlds apart. Although Genji was a fine swordsman and an agile character as his brother, and despite with the same training as each other both practiced different styles. Genji could be ruthless with his blade, but opted to only use it when in dire need. He relied on other assortments in his arsenal such as _shurikens_ and a _Wakizashi_. Hanzo on the other hand relied little on underhanded tactics and preferred the use of his own blade or bow, although traditionally throughout the rise of their family the blade was the preferred weapon.

 

Both brothers held a sibling love for each other, the kind where it existed fundamentally and without question. Despite Genji’s laid back nature and Hanzo’s hisses at him to be less open, Hanzo often protected his brother. Whether someone was taking advantage of him or luring him into drinking too much, if Hanzo was present he would be his younger siblings caretaker. Genji on the other hand would often beg for his brother to loosen up, drink more with him and let loose, and maybe if that happened we would be at a different story than we are at today.

Instead, as Hanzo looked wide eyed at his act for the 10th time, seeing the blood coated floors and walls and drips on varying hiding spots as the memories of his act in killing his brother played in the same vivid flashback upon stepping into the halls of the Shimada Clan.

The guilt allowed him to relive that memory with absolute clarity, and that same guilt made him unable to touch a blade again.

Hanzo stepped quietly into the dojo, his footsteps trained to make barely a pitter-patter as he walked towards what he believed to be the resting place of his brothers soul and memory; within the sword _Ryuichi Moji_.

It was the same old routine in which Hanzo would offer incense to his brother and his memory, never praying for forgiveness, but for his brothers peace.

 

For a long time, his brothers soul was not at peace. Instead, his brothers soul resided in remnants of his former body and encased in non-organic make-shift limbs and organs. The once kind heart was covered in a darkness from his own self hatred in which he projected on himself from his resentment of being alive. He could recall his brothers face in which showed years of fuelled anger shift into something he’d never seen before. He recalled those eyes staring down at him with the strength of a thousand suns wishing for him to die.

The loss of their father had them both at tipping points in their lives. His father, who had always been partial to Genji and protected him from the likes of others had gone, and in that instant Hanzo’s respect was questioned by other Clan Members for allowing his wayward brother to continue his kindness, his flirtations and live as if he didn’t hold any responsibility.

Hanzo’s depression and crazed grasp for perfection drove him to thrust his sword repeatedly into his brother, who barely fought back. He fell so quickly, and Genji could still hear the gritted hiss of “Pathetic” from his elder sibling. He never saw the sudden come down on this bout of insanity, as Genji’s eyes closed and his body wished to succumb to death before hand, and he never saw Hanzo’s eyes widen, or his eyes look at his act, his hands and his blade. He never saw Hanzo’s heart break to an irreparable state, and he never saw his brother forsake the very thing he’d worked his entire life to have.

Hanzo threw the blade to the sea and cursed it to the heavens. He mourned, not through bouts of tears but through self discipline. He didn’t allow himself things he enjoyed, he never rewarded his actions and he never told his name to anyone for his respect.

This ultimately made Hanzo Shimada very hard to find.

Genji, rebuilt through a hushed file in Overwatch’s drawers was recruited to help in exchange for a working body. Overwatch had saved him, but he could not walk, he had only one arm to call his own and his insides were expensive to maintain. Genji had little choice if he wished to live, and although he thought he did not, he did, if only for the sole purpose of extinguishing the thing that took everything from him in the first place.

Genji’s heart was blackened by Hanzo’s corruption, and in that when Genji did eventually aid in sweeping the Shimada clan under the rug he found his brother was long gone.

 

The hatred continued to consume.

 

 

 

 

********

 

“Now listen here ya little jumpin’ Jack, I ain’t shootin’ at ya with my Deadeye with live ammo,” The cowboy tucked his hands into his belt as he stared across from the dangerous looking Ninja who had become his friends. Genji, despite looking awfully scary, with his brows consistently furrowed downward and bottom half of his face hidden by a sharp steel mask allowed only red eyes to peer towards the cowboy. But this Westerner was not afraid in the slightest, he’d been with Genji for years, and he could stare all he damn wanted.

“Do it,” Genji spoke through his teeth. “Jesse, Shoot at me.”

“I’ll shoot at ya with the rubber bullets we usually use. I ain’t usin’ the Peacekeeper.” Jesse was adamant in his utterances, but he did flick his hat up to show he wasn’t scared of the others threats.

“I’m using my real blade,” Genji retorted, this time his organic hand lifted to grasp the handle of the most dangerous sword Jesse McCree had ever seen wielded by probably the most dangerous man he’d ever seen, causing the Cowboy to falter backwards with a perk of his brow.

“Uh, what?” he uttered quietly, watching as the sliding metal came apparent. The sheen was bright enough as it is, but Jesse had seen that thing coated in red before. He knew what exactly it and his owner could do. “Hey now, hold on—“

“Shoot me, Jesse.” The ninja crouched low, this time with the blade swirling in his hands. The fire in his eyes almost made that red sheen glow brighter and Jesse, for once knew what it felt like to be on the other side of it. He did think about getting that Peacekeeper out of it’s holster and firing off a few warning shots, but Genji was a man possessed. Something was wrong, or at least Jesse didn’t get the whole picture. Swallowed the feat in his throat, he raised both his hands and shook his head.

“Not shootin’ ya, pal. The moment I have my gun on you for real if the moment I need to be put down for good.”

Genji paused; his eyes still glancing at Jesse for a long moment, before gradually placing his blade back into his sheath. Jesse was a good man with troubled beginnings, and he knew he could never hurt a friend, even if that friend hurt him. Genji was of course, frustrated by this, but he wasn’t going to take it out on Jesse. Instead, he curled up his fist and slammed it into the wall on his way out, leaving a remarkable dent in it for some poor guy to fix skulking around the Overwatch base.

Jesse McCree gave a long sigh when he watched his partner leave dissatisfied. When Genji asked to meet him in the training room, he expected it to be another ‘can you hit me’ exercise which improved both Jesse’s accuracy and Genji’s agility. This was different though, Genji never asked to be focused with Deadeye, since the damn thing made sure Jesse never, ever missed. He’d have killed him.

Pulling out a cigar from his back pocket, he lit the thing and took a long, musky drag from it, expelling the smoke from his nose. He’d corner Genji on it later once he calmed down.

 

Genji always looked miserable and angry, even when he wasn’t. It was the harsh nature of his outward appearance in their rush to keep him alive. Improvements had been suggested over the years and had been applied, but they were painful, and Genji’s mental state didn’t do too well staying in bed. So when the Ninja was walking with a particularly dark atmosphere around him, many people moved out the way to let him go where he needed to go. Today, it was the highest point Genji could climb.

At the tip of the Gibraltar base, staring downward towards the setting sun and the expanse of the horizon, Genji could see the shimmers of the sun creating make shift stars in the sea’s surface as the last light died out.

“The night has a thousand eyes,” Genji repeated an old saying his father would say. The night was a time to not be seen, but there were more rats in the dark than many people would consider. Sometimes moving in the dark was ineffective, something Blackwatch hadn’t quite come to terms with yet. No one looks in the light, because they presume everyone else is, and that’s the perfect time to lay a trap.

Genji lowered his eyes at the thinking his clan brought him up with. This kind of tactic was sleazy at best, and it seemed that each country depended on how much they could cheat the other to win. Genji was caught up in someone elses war because his own blood decided the world was better off without him, and the moment they finally infiltrated the Shimada clan and demolished it for good, he found his brother had disappeared many years ago, and the name Hanzo hadn’t been heard since.

Even revenge was far from him, and all he had left was nothing.


	2. Christmas

 

_Christmas_

When the first touches of snow landed on the archers coat, he felt himself stiffen as the icy hands of the wind crawled down his neck and through his spine. The chill was only staved off through the bustling vendors and street stalls of hot, flavoured scents brushing past any exposed skin as he walked past. The spicy fumes was enough to make his stomach turn during the late hours and his self discipline won out, containing his strict diet and regimen. Instead, he shoved a few forgotten coins into the vending machine away from the lights and the calling vendors for a bland bottle of water instead to stave his stomach until morning.

The water was cold, and it made his already whittling warm to dissipate within moments of the icy liquid hitting the pits of his stomach.  

The cold was becoming a nuisance, and Hanzo knew it was time to find lodgings. The need for warm however disappeared when he sensed a presence who’s eyes were on him. Although he was acutely in tune with his senses, he did not tense or glance. Instead, he took in a breath of cold air and folded his hands into his pockets.

“…You have chosen an ill night to come for me,” he said to the darkness surrounding him. His ears were picking up every sound they could, from the scuttling rats in the dark to the distant shouts of food vendors and the shuffling of feet from late night shoppers on Christmas Eve. “I am in no mood for games.”

“English, Hanzo?” The voice rattled from the dark, bouncing across the ally making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where it was. “How long has it been since you spoke your mother tongue?”

As suspected. The fool revealed too much even without showing their faces. The voice was not one he knew personally, but the vendetta meant he was part of the Shimada Clan, eager to end the dishonour of a brother running from an unforgivable crime.

“Come at me or stay in the shadows, assassin. I tire of your inability to send someone to end me.” With that, Hanzo tucked the water into his pocket and continued forwards towards the vendors. He was aware that someone who’s presence could be sensed even in a thriving city as Busan, the murderous intent was nothing short of hell bent.

 

Three steps. Three steps made reflexes press into action. Hanzo’s footing pressed into the concrete beneath him and for him to jump easily to the side as a glimmer of red flashed to where he was stood not even a second before. The concrete cracked with Shimada steel, and Hanzo knew he had only a few moments to react. Sliding backwards, his hand reached to the confined bow at his back, jutting it to it’s impressive span with a pump of his arm. The bow had been heavily modified, and the archer knew he had a handful of arrows left at his disposal, but with hope he would only need one. Now with some distance from his assailant, Hanzo’s eyes lifted to stare towards them carefully.

Red. Clad in black and red with armaments he had never seen before. Their face was hidden by a black helm and a red V covered where their eyes would be. This was not Shimada made, but some kind of corrupt hybrid between something else.

The voice was robotic, tinged with a guttural males voice and that of static. He bent low again, stretching his leg outward to and lifting the red blade upwards. Another attack was coming, and Hanzo was ready.

The burst forwards was only a blinks time before the blade was brought to Hanzo. The Archer however had fought off more assailants than he cared to count, and thanks to him not succumbing to a late night dinner and sticking to a heavy set of exercises he was more than sharper than he might have been in his youth. The bow made contact with the blade, causing a thunderous clap between the two weapons and letting Hanzo looking into the blank face of his attackers helm. A closer inspection showed similar designs to a militia or military setting, not something the Shimada clan dealt with directly. Weapon exchanges were always high profile, but the Shimada clan was based on skill, not what this was.

The hard parry came next, causing Hanzo’s bow to fly out of his hand and for the archer to fall back. His assassin was quick to thrust the blade forward, meaning every blow was a killing blow; there was no playing around in this fight.

 

Luckily, Hanzo’s experience in swordsman ship meant he knew the extent of where that sword could reach and where best to be hit from it. The Archer allowed himself to fall backwards, landing on his back as the bled carved the air where he should have stood if he chose to recovery from the fall. Now, with the weight of the swordsman pushing forward, he threw his legs in a dancers circle, sweeping the others feet and grappling him to the ground. That same momentum allowed Hanzo to ide to his feet using the others fall as a boost, allowing the Shimada to dive towards his weapon, roll and thrust an arrow into it and draw back.

His assassin had risen at this point, and the fight was impossibly fast for most human beings to follow. This man had been trained by the Shimada clan, and now Hanzo had to be every more cautious about whatever he was modified with. Training an arrow on the other, he spoke for more answers, although he was unsure if he would receive any.

“… After all these years, who would still send a warrior such as you to end me?”

“You’re only asking that now? Think why someone would want you dead, Hanzo.” The voice was low, deep and quiet. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed at the mention, knowing that only honour killing would be the answer. No one outside his family would hunt him to the ends of the earth with a more than capable warrior just to snuff him out.  “You still don’t get it, do you?”

The assassin pushed forth again with impressive speed, but Hanzo kept his calm. If he made his shot now, he could end this fight. If he missed, he’d get a blade to his gut. He drew a breath in slowly, aiming it ever so carefully as he watched the erratic movements of his oncoming assailant. There was no pattern, no breadth of momentum they were going for. Just getting close to swing and that would be that.

Hanzo took in one last breath and put all his faith in his soul.

 

Now.

 

The slicing whisper of his arrow darted only a few seconds before a thud erupted afterwards. It sounded like a hard punch in a boxing ring as the attacked added to the lethal position of it by running into it chest first. The agile opponent lifted his hands to his chest and dragged the arrow out without much thought, but this proved to be a mistake. Blood soaked the front of his chest with each heartbeat, and his strength failed quickly causing him to fall back on the ground, coughing into the winter air.

Hanzo had escaped death another time, and he released the breath he had been holding during the line up for his shot. Stepping forwards towards his gurgling assassin, he crouched low to move his hands towards the helmet.

When he saw his face he drew back so fast he felt himself slip.

Genji.

Genji’s face.

His heart went cold and his body shook as he blinked furiously at the downed man, before coming to terms with reality and seeing that it was someone with the same black hair as his late brother, but his face was different. Even after all these years, the ghost of Genji haunted him still.

“…I don’t know you,” Hanzo finally uttered over his fears. “Who sent you? What are you?”

“Hah… You’re so clueless…” He coughed, distant brown eyes looking at a once former classmate. “Takashi Sora,” he finally said. “I gradua—“ A cough. “Graduated with you.”

“…Takashi Sora,” Hanzo repeated, having no recollection of the name. “Why did you attack me? Who at the Shimada clan is still hunting me down after all these years?”

“Shi-Shimada clan?” Another drivel of blood escaped his classmates lips. “That doesn’t exist anymore. You abandoned us to Overwatch. Overwatch’s shadow team tore us apart.”  
“And you blame me for this? What a foolish way to die.”

“Hah… You really are nothing in the grand scheme of things, Hanzo.” A groan. “The Shimada clans resources were pick—Picked up by _Talon_. We’ll rebuild…A new clan together.”

Talon. Of course Hanzo had heard of that sector of the government, operating all over the world and lining rich mens pockets through the price of innocents blood.

“You gave Shimada secrets to Talon?” Hanzo spoke calmly, but it was clear that this news angered him.

“I gave my bo…Body in service for the great…Greater good.” It was getting close. Sora’s words were becoming further apart and Hanzo knew he would not survive longer than a few minutes.

“I didn’t think Overwatch had the power to overthrow all of the Shimada clan. You had a rat in your midst and you didn’t know, spilling all your secrets.”

“N-No. They had… A dra…” His eyes seemed hazy. “Dr…gun.” Strength left the other all at once, and he dropped lifeless into the cold night. Hanzo stared at the mounting blood forming around the other that had spilled from his chest. With his heart stopping, the flow would too shortly.

Hanzo stood carefully at his forgotten classmate and felt no sympathy for not remembering his name or any school memories with him. The man had changed himself into some monstrosity to help further his weakened skills. Cleaning the arrow Sora removed from his chest, he sheathed it once more and stepped over the corpse of his past.

 

The Shimada Clan was now completely Talon’s puppet, and Overwatch had some kind of weapon that even the darkest of Shimada secrets couldn’t hide from.

 

The world was at war with each other, and Hanzo continued his own war with himself.


End file.
